


Breath

by padfoots_prose



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, First Kiss, Marauders' Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-26
Updated: 2015-09-26
Packaged: 2018-04-23 11:18:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,544
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4874686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/padfoots_prose/pseuds/padfoots_prose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lily doesn't know it, but this day will mark the beginning of the rest of her life. All she has to do is take one breath, and enter the new, scary world of loving James Potter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Breath

_"Take my hand_   
_Take a breath_   
_Pull me close_   
_And take one step"_

* * *

 

There was something about this moment that was different.

It was intangible, yet undeniable. She couldn't see it, hear it or taste it in the cold, thick, butterbeer-scented air. But she could feel it, deep in the pit of her stomach. The large object that had trapped itself in her throat, the butterflies that were fluttering around her insides, the purring, buzzing feeling in the tips of her fingers – it was  _everywhere_.

Yes, there was definitely something different this time.

"Lily? Are you okay? Hey, Lily! Lily!"

Her gaze re-focussed, jolting her back to reality. The boy opposite her smiled questioningly, his eyes trying to ask her what was wrong. Could he help? Was she feeling sick? Should he take her back to the castle?

Forcing a laugh, she answered, "Yes, I'm fine. Sorry, I just... went to sleep a bit."

His expression fell. "Am I really that boring?"

_Yes_.

"No, of course not! I was up late last night studying."

"The transfiguration test?"

_No._

"Oh yes, that one."

He nodded with what was supposed to be an understanding expression on his perfectly symmetrical face. "That one's looking pretty tough isn't it? McGonagall always tests the really hard stuff. I almost failed the last one she set us!"

_Of course_ you  _almost failed it_.

She winced internally at the bitterness of her thought, but stayed silent, refusing to argue back at it. After all, it was right, wasn't it? This boy, the one she was sitting with now,  _would_  have trouble with transfiguration.

This boy was nice. He was normal. He had no desire to be great, no desire to be famous. This boy would be good at History of Magic and Ancient Runes. He would have the patience for Divination or Astronomy. He would walk her to class every day. He would hold her hand in the hallways, kiss her on the forehead or on the cheek, tell her that he loved her whenever it suited. Sometimes, he might even be a little mad, a little naughty. He might tug her into a deserted classroom and kiss her. His hands might crawl up her waist, dig under her shirt, slide over her stomach... and then stop, exactly when she told them to. He would tell her he was going to surprise her for her birthday and then give her a necklace or a hat. That would be the surprise. Such a normal, expected, predictable surprise, that she wouldn't really be surprised at all. And that would be good. This boy would be good – perfect even – for her.

"Do you want to leave?"

His tone was laced with concern, his question accompanied by a slight movement of his hand, as if he was tempted to reach out and touch her.

_Not with you_.

She quickly snatched her hands off the table, grabbing her cloak off the back of her chair and standing in one smooth motion.

"Yes, thanks. It's getting a bit crowded in here."

He smiled, standing too, and pulled a couple of sickles out of his pocket, leaving them on the table.

"Oh, I'll pay for my-" Lily began, but was cut off by a shake of his head and a chuckle.

"Don't be silly. I asked you out, that means I pay for you."

_The least you could do, after a date as pathetic as this_.

She let out a stiff laugh, wishing it sounded more genuine, and led the way to the door, pushing through the crowded bar. Keeping her head low, her eyes fixed on the many pairs of boots filling the floor, she hoped to leave without being noticed. Maybe once she was outside she'd be able to think clearly again, without the constant interruption by that terrible voice in her head, getting stronger every time she felt  _his_  eyes rest on her.

Finally! The door was in front of her, and the way there was clear. With more force than she intended, she pushed through the last few people, sighing quietly in relief as her hands touched the wood of the door. It was cold – a reminder of the blizzard still raging outside – but it was the only barrier remaining between her and freedom, her and her sanity.

"It still looks cold out, are you sure you don't want to stay in here a bit longer?"

His voice was quiet in the loud room, especially now he wasn't so close to her. She barely noticed it, barely cared about it enough to bother with an answer. Instead, she shook her head, pushing hard against the door. The wind outside was trying its best to lock her in, but she planted her feet firmly on the ground and shoved, hoping the blizzard would subside for a second, just long enough for her to get outside. An arm appeared beside her, a hand attached to the end, helping her push the door open. With the combined force of the two of them it finally moved, flapping open like it was made of paper the moment the wind caught it.

"Thanks," she said, pulling her coat tighter around her shoulders. "And sorry, I just wanted to get out of there. It was so crowded and stuffy and-" she stopped, noticing two things at once.

Firstly, the voice in her head had stopped. Completely. It was utterly silent in her mind. As if the voice had disappeared, blown away by the wind. And secondly, he hadn't put his arm around her shoulders.

It was a stupid expectation, really, but unquestionably it was what he would do. They'd just come outside, right into the midst of a raging blizzard. Snow was flying everywhere, blocking her view of anything more than a foot in front of her. Her cloak was flying up around her knees, whipping against her calves. He would've followed her out, seen the ferocity of the storm, and immediately tried to protect her from it. Because that's what he does. He protects her. Only he wasn't.

Why not?

"Stuffy and-?" A voice asked.

A voice that had everything starting up again. The butterflies. The buzzing. The large boulder lodged in her throat, restricting her breathing, making her gasp in mouthfuls of snow and rain.

"And-?" He prompted her again, laughter in his tone.

He was  _teasing_ her.

_Tease back_.

"And..." The boulder was refusing to budge. She tried again, yelling above the wind. "And this boy kept looking at me. Staring at me from the bar. Glaring, as if I was breaking some sort of rule just being there with someone else."

James laughed out loud this time. "There was another guy staring at you? Other than me, I mean? I bet I could've taken him on. If you say he was only a _boy_."

"As opposed to you, who is a slimy, bullying toerag."

He had to audacity to laugh again. "Sorry, I can't hear you Lily, over the wind. Could you say that again? I missed it."

"You are a slimy, bullying toerag!"

"What?"

"A SLIMY, BULLYING TOERAG!"

"Yeah, he is a bit of a prat isn't he? That Hufflepuff loser you were with. Never really got what you saw in the guy, to be honest. I mean, the occasional flirt doesn't do any harm – I'd know – but agreeing to go out with him? I really didn't think you went for the toerag type, Evans."

She was seething, her teeth gritted. "I don't."

He had moved around to face her while she was yelling, and even through the snow she could see his wide grin. "Good, neither do I. Walk with me?"

_Yes._

"No."

"C'mon, Evans, you know you want to."

_Yes!_

"I can walk fine on my own."

"You wouldn't be saying that if it was him offering, would you?"

_On the contrary..._

"I'm not even going to answer that."

"Why not? Don't want to lie?"

"Actually, I want to save you from damaging your head by sticking it any further up your arse."

He was impressed.

She used the precious seconds while he was in shock at her notably un-Head-Girl-ish response to start moving at a brisk walk in the direction of the school. Perhaps at this pace she'd get back before the frostbite set in. Although, it might be too late for James...

"Wait up, Evans!"

She growled under her breath as he came running up beside her. Stupid Quidditch training making him stupid fit. With all his stupid muscles and his stupid windswept hair. If only his stupid glasses could fog up, but of course he'd thought to charm them before he left, making them repel the snow and rain. Stupid brains making him get stupid high marks.

"I promise I'll pull my head out of my arse."

"I didn't think that was possible."

"It's difficult, but I'll try."

"Thanks for the effort, but don't bother."

Silence. She wondered if he'd given up. It didn't seem likely, but you never know... people change, right?

There was certainly no denying that James Potter was different this year. Not as arrogant or as rude. Certainly not as immature. Something had happened to him over the holidays; something had changed him. He was quieter, more thoughtful and studious – more serious. All of them were, him and his friends. Everyone was. Maybe he'd finally realised that school mattered. Maybe he'd finally noticed the big, wide world out there. Or maybe he hadn't changed at all, and it was her who was different.

That was a scary thought.

"Do you... hate me?" He asked slowly.

She could tell he was fearing the answer, and that humbled her a bit. Smothered the flame of her anger. But it ignited something else. Something more human and personal. Something like what the voice in her head had been telling her all along.

She didn't look at him as she answered.  _Just walk, keep walking_. "No, I don't hate you."

"But you don't like me?" he didn't sound relieved. In fact, he almost sounded disappointed, as if he'd  _wanted_  her to hate him.

The answer was on the tip of her tongue. It would be so easy to say.  _No_.  _No, I don't_. It would be so easy to lie, and leave it at that. So, so easy, and so, so tempting.

"I don't know."

"What?" he stopped walking, and so did she.

Scared of what she'd see, she delayed turning to face him. They were outside of Hogsmede now, but still not at Hogwarts. Somewhere between the two. The Shrieking Shack loomed down on them, tall, menacing and silent. The wind had died down a little, but it still stung her hands and face. She hadn't thought to bring gloves and a scarf.

"Lily?"

"I don't hate you."

"I know that. But do you like me?"

"Sort of."

She was facing him now, and fully facing the complete confusion and complexity of her situation. She felt alone, isolated in this empty space between two places, two eventualities. Hogwarts was close by and so was Hogsmede. James and no James. But she wasn't at either place. She was somewhere in between, unable to choose which direction to go in now that she was here.

It had seemed so clear before.

Go to Hogsmede with someone else. Ignore James. He isn't worth it. You're not worth it. It would never work. He could never make it work. Play it safe, have fun, don't get your feelings thrown into the mess.

_You're not brave enough to do it_.

Dorcas had said it to her once. "You're not brave enough to fly a broom, you could never do it." And she had been right. Lily Evans was a lot of things, but brave wasn't one of them. They say that the brave go to Gryffindor, but in her case she was the exception to the rule. All the brave ones go to Gryffindor. The courageous ones, the honourable ones.

But the Lily Evanses? Where do they go?

The ones who are too scared to say yes to James Potter? The ones who could never fly a broom, not even for a million galleons. The ones who go out with a Hufflepuff boy, because they know that he's safe. He'll hold their hand and walk them to class. He'll never go too fast or too far. He'll never surprise them, never take their breath away in a single movement, a single moment. Where do _they_ go?

_Tell him_ , the voice urged.

She thought about the boulder in her throat. It was still there, very much so, but it wasn't so much a boulder anymore. It was a few words, an action. Something that had to be said and done, but that she wasn't sure she had the courage to do.

The buzzing was even stronger, spreading through her entire body. The butterflies were more like giant, mutant crocodiles, thrashing around in her stomach. The moment – the intangible, untouchable, invisible moment – was here. It was  _now._  The feelings were whirling around her, just as certain and as strong as the snow and ice and wind. Only they didn't strike her like whips. They floated, calm and gentle. Real, somehow. True.

"I think I love you."

A beat of silence.

"I think you love me, too."

"No James. I mean I think I actually love you. Here. Now."

"Do you want me to turn around slowly, so you can get a good look at me and decide for sure?"

The Hufflepuff boy would never have said that.

But that means she never would've laughed at that, albeit nervously, too scared to open her mouth fully in case the thrashing crocodiles spewed out of her stomach. But if she'd never laughed, then he would never have laughed as well. And she would never have had the courage to smile, and catch his hand, swinging by his side. And he would never have adjusted his hand so that hers fit in it just so perfectly that they could've been made to hold each other. And she would never have bitten her lip, looking down in nervous anticipation of what was sure to come. And he would never have caught her chin, bringing it back up so that his lips could reach hers.

The Hufflepuff boy would never have hesitated for that tiny moment before he kissed her, when his eyes were looking into her soul, loving what they saw, and she was looking straight back, equally glad. She would never have been able to take that short, quick breath of surprise. Never would have felt the cold air, stinging her lungs, her throat and her lips.

He would never have kissed her like James Potter did.

James' warm breath mixed with hers, heating her from the inside out. One of his hands still held onto hers – harder, tighter, closer – while the other fit itself around her neck, his fingers burrowing beneath her soft, fiery red hair. He pulled away for a second, letting her breathe in this new air.  _His_ air. They breathed in sync now.

"I love you," she decided, barely needing to whisper.

"You know what, Lily Evans? I think I might just love you, too."


End file.
